Beloved
by writergirl2003
Summary: "You scared me," he tells her, and he doesn't mind saying it because for the past two years she has been his everything: his mother, his confidante, and, most importantly, the mother of his child.
1. Chapter 1

This is a sequel to my story Bereft. If you haven't read Bereft, you may want to do so before reading this story.

I'm assuming this story will be either two or three chapters, depending on how much I decide to write.

Warnings: This story pretty much deals with every trigger warning that exists, so if you are particularly sensitive to such things, you may want to sit this one out, though I hope you won't.

Spoilers: None, this whole thing is pretty much AU.

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He sits in the darkness, listening to Lana's soft voice on the other side of the wooden door. She is speaking in hushed tones, but he hears the soft pronunciations of the words that carry a soft lisp, and he pushes himself closer to the door frame. He cannot make out the words she is saying, but the softness of her voice tells him that she is speaking to the child, and that thought makes his lips turn into a soft smile.

He presses his ear against the door, though this is his house and this behavior is beneath him, and he can make out the gentle whispers of an apology; a light "I'm sorry," said over and over again. The words don't make sense at first and he sits back to reflect upon them before his mind wraps around the possible connotation of the words and he is pushing the door open, gasping for breath as his gaze falls upon Lana, sitting in the rocking chair with the child sitting peacefully in her lap.

Her eyes raise to him as he bursts through the door, and the child's eyes follow his mother's gaze. Both of them are watching him in a state of mild confusion, though it only lasts for a moment before Lana's eyes are lowering again, and the child settles back into his mother's embrace.

"You scared me," he tells her, and he doesn't mind saying it because for the past two years she has been his everything: his mother, his confidante, and, most importantly, the mother of his child. He has told her many things in the past two years that he had sworn never to tell another living soul; things he had only whispered to the lifeless bodies on his autopsy tables and once to the corpses whose skin he had so lovingly removed. And through it all, she remained as silent as one of his bodies.

He stands beside them for a moment before kneeling and ruffling his fingers through his son's dark hair. The toddler gazes up at him with his mother's eyes and smiles, reaching one tiny arm out toward him.

"Daddy," he grins, his tiny teeth revealed. He sees Lana's grip tighten on the toddler.

"I'm trying to get him to sleep, Oliver," she tells him, her voice quiet as she shifts him in her arms. "You'll just get him all excited. Can't you go somewhere else until he's asleep?" She asks softly. "I'll come find you."

"No you won't," he tells her, and she doesn't respond because they both know her words are true. "Besides, it's almost time for you to go downstairs."

She is silent for a moment before speaking.

"It's been over two years, Oliver. Don't you think the basement is a little excessive at this point?"

He ignores her question because they both know the answer.

"You're getting good with him," he says instead, watching as the child's dark eyes begin to drift close. The gentle sway of her body in the rocking chair is easing the toddler to sleep and she keeps her eyes focused on his tiny face. "Much better than you were at the beginning."

Without a sound from her, he notices the way her jaw is clenching and he knows they are recalling the same memory. He, freshly home from work after his paternity leave, searching for her and the baby throughout the house. Finding them upstairs, in this very room, in this same rocking chair; Lana holding a pillow to the child's face, his tiny limbs flailing uncontrollably as she attempted to smother the breath from his lungs.

By the time he'd thrown both the pillow and Lana roughly against the wall, the child's skin and lips already light blue, and he'd barely been able to compose himself enough to perform cardiopulmonary resuscitation on the infant. He had worked relentlessly as Lana slid to the ground sobbing, and when the child had found his breath with a shuddering gasp, it had taken everything in him not to fall to his knees, tears sliding down his cheeks.

It had taken a long time after that incident for him to trust Lana with his child. He hadn't allowed her to be in the baby's presence without him being in the same room as them. Of course, he hadn't been able to separate the two of them completely; the bond between a mother and child was everlasting, and the baby needed her for nourishment, after all. It had taken months, perhaps even years, for him to get back to the point where Lana was able to close the door with the child in the room.

But now, watching her coddle him in her arms, it looks like the most natural thing in the world. Her eyes are locked on his cherubic face, his chest rising and falling heavily with sleep, and she blinks before looking slowly up to him as he stands watching her.

"Just let me have another minute with him," she requests, and the starkness of her face strikes him as if it's the first time he's ever seen it. Her face is so gaunt, eyes dark. He realizes with a start that he is worried about her, though even he acknowledges that it's merely the effect she will have on his child that concerns him. "In private. Please."

He sighs, looking at the clock on the wall.

"You have one minute," he tells her. "I'll be outside the door."

"You always are," she says quietly, her fingers tracing the round cheeks of the child in her arms.

He steps from the room and pulls the door closed behind him, leaving it slightly ajar. It is only a few seconds before the whispers begin from behind the door once again. He stands impatiently, glancing at his watch to count the seconds. Just as the minute hand on his watch prepares to move, he hears a strange sound coming from behind the door. He is prepared to push through and into the room again until Lana emerges, her eyes lined in red and her face puffy. She sniffles as she pushes past him and through the hallway.

Without a word to him, she opens the basement door and descends the stairs, pulling the heavy entrance shut behind her. He follows after her slowly, placing his hand on the door for a moment before securing the padlock that will keep her in for the night. It won't do to have her loose in the house, he knows. He wouldn't be safe, and more importantly, the child wouldn't be safe. She spends her evenings in the basement, which has since been converted into a somewhat modern living area. She has a bed, clothes, a toilet. She wants for nothing.

But he... there is so much he desires. Her touch. Perhaps the touch of any human being. He knows there are moments when she wants to touch him; he can feel the longing in his very being. But she will resist him. He knows this.

He would like to hear her voice, the way he heard it those few times so long ago. He would like to hear her display some emotion other than indigence, he would like to see her bitter, angry, or even hateful. But she has lost so much spirit in the past two years. The light in her eyes has gone out, no longer even a flicker of passion or desire remains. Her eyes are now empty, bottomless pits of darkness. He cannot read their expression.

But this is not about her, he realizes, as he turns from her padlocked door and down the hallway to his bedroom, which is just adjacent to his son's nursery. This is about him, and of course the child. Lana has served her purpose, but he also realizes that the child would not exist if he had not grown in her womb.

There is something to be said for the relationship they keep up, but he knows they are living in sin. Their coupling, which resulted in this child, was beautiful but unnatural. And now they are raising that child together. One day his son will grow up and want to know why his mother and father weren't married. And Oliver would have to be the one to answer for it. It is the only reasonable thing to do.

He makes the decision that very evening, after settling into his bed. By the end of the week, he and Lana will be married, with or without her consent.


	2. Chapter 2

Once again, I don't own anything. Part 2 of 3!

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"Lana, it's time for breakfast," he calls, hoisting the toddler on his hip. The child places his hand on the door frame next to the much larger hand of his father and smiles up at him.

"Mama?" he asks, his eyes shining bright.

"Yes, Johnny, Mama," he responds to the young child, glancing down the cellar stairs. He frowns. She knows their strict schedule and is usually already on her way up the stairs by this point in the morning. It has been the same every day for two years; at nine o'clock, breakfast begins.

He is quiet, listening for the sound of her shuffling out of bed, but hears nothing. Sighing in annoyance, he holds the child to his hip and begins down the stairs, pausing on the steps where he is able to see the entire basement from his vantage point. He sees her body in the bed, still and silent. Her hair is sprawled on the white pillow beneath her and she looks so peaceful. He almost hates to wake her, but it's time for breakfast and he doesn't like to deviate from the daily plan.

"Lana," he calls her name, but she doesn't stir. For a brief moment, he wonders if maybe she's dead. It's absurd, of course, but sleeping late is so unlike her that he can't help but think that perhaps she's stopped breathing. He hesitates calling her name again, but Johnny squeals suddenly, wriggling in his arms.

"Mama!" He cries, his tiny arms reaching out for her. Almost as if on cue, Lana stirs, sitting up quickly, while a mumbled version of her son's name escapes her lips. She blinks, looks dazed for a moment, and then sighs, her posture slumping. His lips turn into a smirk.

"Good morning, lazy bones." He shifts the child on his hip. "It's time for breakfast. We'll wait for you upstairs." He turns to walk up the stairs but can't wipe the smile from his face. He is so excited to tell her his idea about the wedding; he thinks she'll be quite proud of him and his ingenious planning. There are many views that they differ on, but providing the best for Johnny has never been an issue of contention for them.

It's only a few minutes after he gets Johnny seated in his high chair and begins to read the morning newspaper that Lana emerges. She knows he likes it when she wears her robe to the kitchen table, so of course that's what she wears. He likes these lazy Sunday mornings between them, the radio playing softly as she fixes eggs and toast and Johnny cooing happily while having his breakfast. It's what he's always dreamed of, his family.

"You overslept this morning," he tells her the obvious as she is carrying the plates to the table. Johnny looks up at her with dark eyes, grinning somewhat toothlessly. Her lips turn into an involuntary smile, wrinkling her nose at him. He watches the interaction between them, his heart aching at the relationship the two of them share. The bond between a mother and her child is sacred, even more so than that of a father and child. He will never know how it must feel to hold a child as they receive their very _sustenance_ from him. It's a bond Lana and Johnny will share for the rest of their lives. Even now, though Johnny is just over two years old and now eats solid food, he still requires Lana to breastfeed at least a few times a week, though he now allows her to do it behind closed doors. The health benefits are not merely for infants, he is convinced.

"I was tired," she replies simply, sliding into her chair at the table. She keeps her eyes on her plate or the child, not bothering to look over at him. The two of them sit silently for a moment while Johnny happily eats cereal off the table, making small happy noises to himself.

"I've come to a decision," he tells her, halfway through his eggs. Her cooking is sub-par. He's never much cared for it, but it's one of the things he requires from her, being the mother of the house. When she raises her eyes to look at him, his lips are pressed together in a tight smile. He waits for her to speak. She must be curious, maybe even scared of what he'll say, but her face doesn't let on. She simply blinks at him, still slowly chewing a bite of toast.

"Don't you want to know what it is?" He can't resist playing this game with her, because he so badly wants to see that fire in her eyes again, but she does not take the bait. She sits silently and still, her eyes locked on him.

"It doesn't matter if I don't want to know," she tells him plainly, "You'll tell me. You always do."

He clenches his jaw, her eyes narrowing at her. She's right, of course, and that's what makes him the angriest. His desperation to appeal to her, even now, after she has been his for these years, makes him feel weak and disgusted. She should be the one attempting to attract her to him, not the other way around.

He considered teasing her with the idea, but her reaction catches him off guard and he wants to break the news to her as hard as he possibly can, so that he may watch her fall apart right in front of him.

"Our son is getting older," he begins, stressing the first word and seeing the way her gaze wavers for just a moment at the idea. He feels the need to constantly remind her that the child is _theirs_, created from bits of him and pieces of her. It is important for her to remember that he knows her in the most intimate ways, and always will. He has known her intimately several times over the last two years. "Soon, he will start asking questions, and I want to do right by him."

"By him?" She shoots the words at him, her eyes sharp and dark. "What, so one day you can tell him what a stand-up guy you are?"

He knows her words are meant to poke fun at him, even hurt him, but he merely blinks them away. The thought of being able to connect with his son in the future eases the pain.

"We're going to be married, Lana."

He expects many reactions from her as the words leave his mouth, but silence is not one of them. He has braced himself for screaming, kicking, perhaps even a violent counteraction toward him, but she disappoints him on all fronts. Although, as the quiet folds in around them, he thinks that this reaction may be better than any of the imagined. He has stunned her into absolute silence.

Her hands lay flat on the table and he watches her long fingers as she fights to keep them from trembling.

"I suppose there's no way to prevent this from happening." The resignation in her voice is obvious. She sounds alone and, for the first time since she's adjusted to living with him, scared. He relishes the very idea.

"Oh, it's already happened," he replies to her, his voice low and smooth. "From the moment you invited me inside your sweet, warm body, it happened. When our son was still forming inside you, no bigger than a pinhead, it was already set into motion."

She is now impossibly quiet, though Johnny is watching the expression on his face and now smiles himself. Lana is oblivious to it.

"If that's what you want, Oliver."

Even now, hearing her speak his name makes the excitement in his stomach grow. The very thought that she expends her energy to say those three syllables leaves him feeling giddy and breathless each time.

"It is what I want," he nods, "I've already found a judge. He'll officiate the papers tomorrow at city hall. And," he adds, almost as an afterthought, lowering his voice and leaning into her, "if you're thinking of trying to fight or escape, I would _highly_ suggest you don't."

"And what about Johnny?" She asks, and he can see that her chest is heaving, despite the fact that she's attempting to keep it together in front of him. Her panic mode has begun, and this brings him endless joy. Finally, some real goddamn _emotion_ from her.

"What about Johnny?" He responds, slipping a cigarette between his lips and flicking a lighter. He knows she is grasping at straws now; anything to throw a kink in his plans. "He'll be there with us, of course. This union is in his name, after all." He smirks at her. "Why wouldn't we want our son there with us on the second happiest day of our life together?"

"Of course," she says after a very long silence. Her hands are still flat against the wooden tabletop, and she pushes herself up slowly, her robe skirting the floor as she stands. He can see her teeth worrying her bottom lip, chewing nervously as she tends to do. "May I shower?" She asks, her voice dry and quiet. She knows the rules and he appreciates this fact.

"Yes," he responds, dropping his eyes to the newspaper on the table in front of him before looking back at her hurriedly. "Leave the door open." It's as much for his protection as hers. There are razors in the bathroom, though he keeps them guarded in a locked cabinet high above Johnny's reach. Lana, however, is far more perceptive when it comes to manipulating padlocks.

He sees her pause in the corner of his eye, watching him without a word.

"How could I forget?" She asks softly, and she shuffles into the bathroom silently. He hears the shower start and closes his eyes, thinking of the water beating against her pale, freckled skin. He thinks of her full breasts, still heavy with milk and the warm, pink space between her legs that he slips himself into when he is feeling particularly generous.

He listens to the sound of the shower running for a moment, and Johnny begins to fuss and squirm. He folds his paper and stands, moving to lift Johnny from his high chair when he hears the same gasping sound he heard coming from Johnny's room the other night. Although he wasn't able to place it at the moment, he now recognizes it suddenly: it is the sound of Lana sobbing. Of course he should have been able to place it immediately, after hearing it so many times the whispered cries have become a sort of mantra for her. But he has been so content with his life with her and the child that the thought of her being unhappy for any reason seems foreign to him.

He pulls Johnny onto his lap and bounces him on his knee for a moment before remembering that he has a task to complete. He places Johnny in his playpen in the living room, hands him the stuffed bear that the child has recently taken to dragging behind him as he toddles around the house, and slips into the closet of the master bedroom. He pulls a hanger from the closet, carries it carefully down the basement stairs and lays it flat on the bed, smoothing the protective plastic that covers the fine material.

It feels like he waits forever, but he hears the shower turn off and he listens closely, able to make out the light footsteps as Lana crosses the first floor and approaches the basement door. She speaks softly to Johnny who calls to her happily from his playpen. By the time she's moving through the basement door, he knows that she can tell he's downstairs waiting for her. She pauses for a moment, clutching her robe tightly to her chest as she begins her slow descent down the stairs. He sees her bare feet from where he is standing and holds his breath until she appears completely to him, her hair wet and hanging limp.

"What are you doing down here?" She asks, watching him with large brown eyes. He watches her silently for a moment before stepping aside, allowing her to see the bag on the bed behind him. He sees her eyes scan over it before she steps onto the floor, making her way over slowly.

"What's that?" She asks, her eyes focused on the white material beneath the plastic.

"It's your wedding dress," he smirks at her, watching her face as the words leave his mouth. He is unable to gauge a reaction from her and this makes him angry and disappointed at the same time. "I'd like you to try it on."

She raises her eyes to his.

"When did you get it?" She asks, as if his answer even matters, but he decides to sate her curiosity.

"I've had it for awhile now," he responds, his fingers tracing over the plastic before grasping the hanger. "For months, maybe even the better part of a year. I've known this day would come." He closes his eyes just briefly, taking a soft breath as he offers the hanger to her. "As I said, I'd like you to try it on."

She blinks at him, swallowing hard, her fingers still clutching her robe to hold it together. He stands still, watching her, his eyes unmoving as she reaches one hand out to take the hanger. She clutches the silver hook, her eyes locked on him. He catches the look of resignation in her eyes as she turns her back to him. She hesitates for a moment, then lowers the robe, and the sight of her body so close to him makes him draw in his breath. Her back is smooth and pale, and he sees a few drops of water that haven't yet dried from her shower. His fingers itch to reach out and brush them away, but he must contain himself. There will be plenty of time for physical contact after the wedding tomorrow. He must be patient.

But that doesn't mean he can't watch her lithe form as her robe pools on the ground. The soft curve of her rear end, the arch of her hip as his eyes travel up her body, taking in every inch of skin he sees. His mouth starts to water, his hands start to fidget at his sides, and he slips them into his pocket. He despises the bodily urges that she elicits in him for a moment, but then he realizes something: she is no longer simply the mother of his child. She is now his fiancée, and by this time tomorrow, she will be his wife. It is not only a positive thing that he feels this way about her, but it is something that is healthy and encouraged among married couples.

The thoughts soothe him and he watches as she slides the dress from the plastic bag and then slips it over her head. It settles on her hips and he sees her adjusting the thin belt around her waist. She stands, unmoving, for a moment before he speaks.

"Turn around, please, Lana."

She doesn't move, but he hears her soft voice.

"Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the ceremony?" She asks. Her question surprises him, and because he suspects she may be using his traditional views of marriage against him, he suppresses a small chuckle.

"You've been my bride for longer than you've realized, Lana. Tomorrow is simply the day it becomes official. Besides," he steps closer to her, his fingers reaching for the metal zipper on the back of her dress. He feels her flinch as he slides it up to the neckline, where his fingers linger for just a moment on her damp hair. "My bad luck ran out two years ago, when we became a family."

She says nothing, but his hands land on her shoulders and he turns her slowly, taking in the sight of her as she stands in her wedding dress before him. He nearly steps back to admire the view when he realizes that the dress is stretched around Lana's middle, though not enough to warrant much attention from anyone who isn't as intimately familiar with her body as he.

He sees that she has caught his eye and steps back, head down as her hands come up to cover her torso.

"It's too small," he frowns, glancing up at her face. Her dark eyes meet his in a fierce gaze. "I thought you were a size six." The fact that he doesn't know his soon-to-be-bride's dress size bothers him more than he can say, but he shrugs away the fact. "It's no matter. I'll take it into town this afternoon. I need to pick up a few things for the ceremony."

"You're going into town?" She looks up at him suddenly, her eyes widening. "Can I come?"

He stops, watching her before shaking his head.

"Not today, Lana. It's too risky."

"Oh, please," she steps forward, which surprises him. She wets her lips with her tongue. "Johnny needs some more diapers, and I think he needs a few more jars of baby food, I-"

"Okay," he sighs, "that's fine, I'll pick it up when I'm in town. But you'll stay here."

He sees her shoulders slump and, fearing a protest that he won't be able to resist, begins towards the basement stairs.

"Take your dress off, please, and bring it upstairs. I'll be leaving with Johnny in about fifteen minutes."

By the time he reaches the top of the stairs, Johnny calls for him with outstretched arms and he goes to his son, hoisting him into his arms. He carries the child into his bedroom, dresses both of them, and returns a few moments later to find Lana dressed as well, holding the hanger and dress.

"Can Johnny stay with me?" She asks, her voice hopeful. He blinks at her. Her question strikes him as absurd, though he has stayed home alone with Lana a handful of times. When the thought of the two of them alone crosses his mind, he is brought back to that moment, two years ago, when he walked in on Lana and his child, a pillow pressed against his tiny face. It was a horrifying moment then, and certainly one he doesn't want to repeat now.

"Mama!" Johnny cries out happily, reaching for Lana, who extends her arms to him, though he doesn't release his hold on the child. He watches her with dark eyes.

"Johnny comes with me," he tells her, shaking his head. Lana blinks at him, and Johnny looks up at him.

"No Daddy, I want Mama!" The young boy pouts, his lower lip protruding. He shifts his son on his hip.

"You come with Daddy," he tells him, to which the toddler shakes his head, a low whine starting in the back of his throat and growing in volume as he reaches for Lana. "We need to get your coat on, Johnny."

"Oliver, please," Lana says his name and he turns to her. "I'm his mother..." she hesitates, "and I'm going to be your wife. How are we supposed to be a family if you won't even trust me with our son?"

He still hesitates, even though Lana is stepping closer to them and already slipping her hands around their son's small waist.

"He's the best thing in my life," she tells him, her eyes focused only on him. He feels like the only one in the world when she looks at him this way. "I'd never hurt him. Never."

And before he has a chance to protest, Lana is pulling the child out of his arms and cradling him. Johnny's tiny arms go around Lana's neck and he murmurs gently to her, placing tiny kisses on the skin just beneath her shoulders.

He knows it's a mistake, as soon as the child is out of his grasp, but he can't deny the love between the two of them, and he knows, as much as he wants to deny it, that Lana is right. Their marriage, their _family,_ will never work until he learns to trust her. It is something that he suddenly decides he must work on.

"Okay," he says, and takes a step back. Lana and Johnny watch him. "I'll be gone less than two hours. You may not leave the house. When I call, I'll let the phone ring two times before hanging up and calling back. You may only answer the phone when I call."

"Okay," Lana nods easily, her hand absentmindedly stroking Johnny's dark hair as she sways him in her arms.

It would be anything but the truth if he said he wasn't nervous about leaving Lana and Johnny alone, but the two of them look so comfortable with each other that he does his best to push the worry from his mind as he leaves the house, locking the door behind him. His mind is in a flurry as he drives downtown, Lana's dress occupying the empty seat beside him. He finds it odd that the dress is too small, considering that he has done all of her shopping for the past two years and has never gotten a size wrong, but his mind is too busy considering all of the things Lana could be doing to Johnny to spend too much time concentrating on the reason.

His first stop downtown is the seamstress, who knows him only as the man who has brought his wife's dress in for alterations. A quick taking-out of the waistline is guaranteed and he is at the market, purchasing cloth diapers, safety-pins and several jars of baby food. He is looking forward to potty-training Johnny and wonders if this will be the last time he'll need to purchase new diapers. The thought fills him with a mixture of happiness and nostalgia.

His last stop is the one he's looked forward to the most. The jeweler shows him several his-and-her wedding bands in gold, silver and platinum, and he studies the differences for a long moment before realizing that he isn't sure which band Lana would prefer. They've never discussed her choice of fine jewelry, and he suddenly feels unsure of himself. The jeweler graciously offers the store's telephone for his call, and he dials the phone number, lets the phone ring twice and hangs up. Immediately after, he dials the number again and waits. One ring, two rings, three. No answer.

The panic begins to rise in his throat and his hands are sweaty against the glass display case. Another call home goes unanswered and he is suddenly purchasing the simple gold bands, waiting impatiently as they are packed into handsome white boxes and then lays more than enough cash on the counter before dashing out. He is sure the jeweler watches him go with wide eyes, but it makes no difference.

Back to the seamstress to retrieve Lana's dress because even in this moment of panic, he knows that there are things to do and places he must be. The car ride home is full of horrible thoughts and he grabs his purchases, rushing to the front door of the house and struggling to unlock the deadbolts while maintaining any semblance of his sanity.

The bags fall to the floor when he enters the house and he calls for Lana, calls for Johnny, but is met only by silence. His first stop is Johnny's room, which is unoccupied, and then the master bedroom. His heart pounding, he approaches the top of the basement stairs and pulls the door open, taking a breath before thundering down the stairs.

He sees them, curled in Lana's bed together, her arm wrapped protectively around the child as they lay tangled in the sheets. It takes him a moment to find his feet, but he is rushing over to her, grabbing her wrist and pulling her harshly into a sitting position.

Her eyes flutter open quickly, fear and confusion in her eyes as she cries out in pain and the child is awoken beside her.

"What are you doing?" He demands, his voice full of accusation and anger. Tears are forming in his eyes and he can barely see past his frustration. "I called you, Lana! You _always_ answer when I call, do you understand me? Do you have any idea what I was thinking?"

"Daddy," Johnny starts to cry, clinging to Lana out of fear. "Stop, Daddy!"

"I thought you got the razors," he begins, his voice full of panic, "I didn't know. You didn't answer, and all I could think was that you and Johnny were lying here _dead_, and I trusted you! You promised to answer the phone, and you didn't!"

"You're right, I'm sorry," Lana was shaking her head quickly, coddling Johnny who had crawled into her lap and was now looking at him fearfully. "We fell asleep. I was tired, and Johnny needed a nap, and I just thought we could lay down, just for a minute. I thought I would hear the phone ring, and..."

"Come here, Johnny," he reaches his arms out to his son, who cowers in Lana's embrace. The sight of his own son pulling away from him fills him with a hurt and rage he can't quite explain, and the darkness grows in his eyes. Lana must see it because she covers Johnny's ears with her hands and presses a kiss on his head.

"You wanted this, Oliver, remember?" Her voice is incredibly soft now, and he stops, his fists curled into tight balls. She is looking up at him with that gaze that won him over so long ago. "Isn't this everything you've ever wanted? You, me, and Johnny. Me, being his mommy." She swallows, blinks. "_Your_ mommy?"

The tears break in his eyes and begin slipping down his cheeks because she's right, again. She's doing exactly what he has wanted her to do. She's being the mother he never had, and the mother his son deserves. And yet, he was so angry. The hatred begins to boil again, though this time, it isn't for Lana, it's for himself. To think that he stormed in here, full of accusations and conspiracy theories, only to find them sleeping peacefully, it makes him feel like the worst father on the planet.

He sits on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, and begins to weep openly. It goes on that way for a moment before he feels a tiny hand on his back. Johnny is watching him curiously, eyes large and brown like his mother's.

"Don't cry, Daddy," his tiny voice reassures him, and he takes the child into his arms, hugging him tightly. He closes his eyes and presses his face against the child's chest, and feeling his son against him helps restore the tranquility that is ebbing in his brain.

"It's okay," he whispers against the child after a moment, wiping his eyes and rising from the bed. He places Johnny against Lana's chest and moves from the bed, pulling something out from beneath the bed frame. Lana's eyes go wide at the sight of it.

"Oliver, no...you don't need that," she whispers, pushing herself back against the headboard of the bed. His hand reaches out for her ankle and drags her back to the edge of the mattress. His fingers work at the ankle cuff and he slips it around her slender foot before locking it. She tests the strength of the binding as he watches, but quickly resigns herself to the fact that it's the same one he's used on occasion.

"I do need it," he says, climbing into bed behind Lana, pressing himself against her back and curling against her as Johnny settles into her stomach. The three of them are pressed together, Lana chained in place to prevent her from moving away from him. He has learned his lesson. "Your little boys need a cuddle."

He feels her go rigid against him, but his body is pressed so close to hers that his mind no longer comprehends the fact that she may not want to here. Her body is so soft and warm, and he slips his knees behind hers.

"Just think," he whispers into her ear as he feels himself beginning to slip into the dark abyss of sleep, "by this time tomorrow, we won't need this chain to keep us together anymore. There will be no more Lana, and no more Oliver. We'll be one for life."


	3. Chapter 3

Here it is; chapter 3 of 3! I want to thank everyone who has inspired me and supported me during the writing of this story. I also want to thank everyone who left a review, no matter how long or short. I appreciate and read every single message and review, truly. Thank you so much. Enjoy!

Note: I own nothing. No spoilers. No real trigger warnings.

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It doesn't matter that the sound of rain drumming against the roof of the house is what wakes him the next morning. This is to be a day of celebration and no weather, no matter how dreary, will bring him down. After all, he has heard it said that rain on your wedding day is a fortunate omen, and he considers this as he heads into Johnny's nursery.

His first reaction when he sees that Johnny isn't in his crib is to panic. He rushes from the small blue bedroom, calling his young son's name desperately until he hears two soft voices coming from the kitchen. He hurries into the dining area, and Lana and Johnny both glance up at him, undoubtedly confused about the look of fear on his face.

"What..." he breathed, wiping a hand over his face, "Lana, how did you get upstairs?"

"You left the door unlocked last night," she tells him, raising her eyes to him briefly. "You don't remember?"

"I don't remember because I didn't unlock the door," he tells her, his eyes narrowing. "How did you get out?" He moves toward her quickly, his hands grasping her arms as he searches her for the tools of her escape. She must have found something; one of those damn nail files from the bathroom, or perhaps even something as simple as a bobby pin. He curses, because he's been so careful up to this point with locking her in, and God, what if she had been able to unlock the front door? The key to the deadbolt is located just under a shelf in the kitchen and Jesus, if she had taken Johnny-

"You unlocked the door," she says again, slower this time, her brown eyes wide with determination. She glances to Johnny, who is watching them from his high chair, and then back to him. She swallows deeply before stepping nearer to him, her fingers trembling as she reaches toward him. She hesitates for a moment before placing her soft hand on his cheek, her eyes searching his. "Oliver, I haven't forgotten what's happening today. I'm becoming your wife." She gives a tight smile to Johnny before looking back at him. "Your wife doesn't belong in the basement. That's what you told me last night."

She is right, he realizes with a sudden rush of panic and heat to his face. He now remembers telling her those words, his hand lingering on the deadbolt of the basement door, hesitating before dropping his hand and walking away, leaving the door unlocked and slightly ajar. The memory alarms him and he briefly wonders what left him so trusting of the woman who has done everything in her power to disarm him. He remembers suddenly; the feeling of her warm body pressed against his, her bottom pressed against his lap, back to stomach, as the three of them lay in her bed. She had convinced him with her warmth and softness. It is a decision he hopes he doesn't come to regret.

"Yes," he whispers against her touch, his hand coming up to hold her fingers in place on his cheek, "once you're my wife you must adjust to living upstairs. With me." His fingers curl slightly against hers. "With your family."

The slightest reaction occurs within her eyes as he watches her, though it is hard to say for sure what it is she may be feeling. Lana is a glass case of emotion, her feelings confined and withheld from him, though not completely out of view. She quickly pulls her hand from his cheek and he is left with the lingering touch of skin-to-skin contact. Her fingers curl against her side and she turns quickly, moving back to the stove where their breakfast is sizzling.

He is pleasantly surprised that she has taken it upon herself to fix breakfast, but hunger is the least of his concerns on this day. Excitement bounds in his stomach as if he is a young child with a world of possibilities ahead of him. He has so much to say to Lana, so much to show her. There is simply no time for breakfast.

"I have something for you," he tells her, moving through the kitchen and into the living room. He finds the small white box just where he left it the previous evening and carries it carefully back to Lana, who is sliding bacon out of a greasy pan and onto a plate. She turns to him, looking slightly surprised. She hesitates to take the box from his fingers, but he pushes it into the palm of her hand and stands, watching her.

She glances at him and then Johnny before her thin fingers open the lid. He can barely contain his excitement as he sees her eyes scan the contents of the box. She pulls the golden chain from its box, her thin fingers supporting the frail links.

"It's a bracelet," he speaks quickly as her fingers tremble. He hurries to unlock the clasp, slipping it around her thin wrist. He sees her eyes scan the engraved words in the glittering metal that rests on her skin. The corner of his lips turn up into a smirk as he watches her eyebrows furrow just slightly at the foreign language. "It's French," he tells her, "You wouldn't know I took three years of French in college. Have you ever studied a foreign language, Lana? Specifically French?"

Her eyes rise to him, her head shaking just slightly, the question still in her eyes.

"Oh, it's a beautiful language," he speaks softly, "the words simply roll off your tongue... much more eloquent than English... and it feels more intimate, don't you think?" HIs fingers trace her skin, she makes a subtle attempt to pull away, but he catches her gaze in a dangerous glance. "The fact that very few people will understand the significance of this bracelet without your consent to tell them? Doesn't that make you feel more in control of yourself, Lana?"

"What...what does it say?" She has to ask, he knows, and the confirmation of her dependence on him, even for such a trivial fact, leaves him grinning like a wolf.

"Tu es à moi," he reads the words aloud easily before raising his eyes to meet hers. "You are mine."

The look of muted alarm on her face as she struggles to keep her panic from erupting is priceless. He takes a step back, admiring the tone of her skin against the gold jewelry.

"Things will inevitably change once we're married, Lana. People will be curious. They will wonder about my wife, my family, and I'm prepared to confront those changes. You may be able to leave the house more often, the door may not be locked every day...because I believe trust is an essential part of a healthy marriage." He blinks at her, and her eyes have not moved from his face. "However, this bracelet is to remain on your wrist. From this moment on, it serves its purpose as much more than a simple piece of jewelry. It is your very identity... Mrs. Thredson."

Her face pales and she's bolting past him and into the bathroom. He hears her purging her stomach into the toilet, and he looks toward Johnny, who is seemingly oblivious to his mother's distress. He grins up at his father.

"Good morning, Johnny," he slides into a seat at the table, one hand lovingly stroking his son's dark hair. "Today is a very exciting day for all of us. Do you know why, son?"

Johnny crinkles his nose at him, grinning still.

"Mama Daddy?" He wonders, twisting around in his high chair in an attempt to see Lana in the bathroom. "Mama, Daddy, Johnny."

"That's right, Johnny," his hands rest on the table before him, "Mama, Daddy, and Johnny. Today is the day we officially become a family. In just a little while, we'll be going to the courthouse. And, son, I've picked out a suit just like mine. You'll look just like Daddy."

"Like Daddy," Johnny nods, "Johnny and Daddy."

As he pulls back from the conversation with his son, Lana appears in the hallway, wiping at her mouth. She eyes him warily.

"I need to lie down," she tells him, "before the wedding. I'm tired."

He nods to her.

"By all means, Lana. I'll need you at your most vibrant this evening. We have a long night ahead of us."

She starts to move toward the basement door before he calls to her again.

"I need to run a few errands while you nap," he tells her. "A visit to the florist and drug store. And because I understand how important weddings are to a woman, I'd like you to tell me which flowers you would prefer in your bridal bouquet. I've never been quite sure about floral arrangements."

He sees her chew on her bottom lip, shaking her head tiredly.

"It doesn't matter," she tells him, her eyes moving from his. "I don't care. Whatever you want me to hold, Oliver."

Her resignation annoys him, just as it did those years ago, when she had allowed herself to submit to death so easily as he prepared his tools. He knows this _should _matter to her; it is her wedding, _their_ wedding, and it will be the only wedding she ever has. She should be excited, he knows this. It's only natural for a woman on the verge of her wedding to be flushed with excitement and nerves, worrying about her hair and nails and jewelry. However, he wants this day to be perfect for both of them, and he decides that if Lana can't be bothered to plan the minute details, he must take it upon himself.

Lana retreats to the basement and, with Johnny, Oliver prepares himself for a full afternoon. Once they are both dressed and ready, he drives to the florist. He isn't sure of himself upon entering the store, but when his eyes fall upon a dark red bouquet near the service area, he knows it is the perfect one for Lana. It reminds him of her immediately, and the clash of red against the white of her dress and pale skin turns him on without even fully realizing why. Perhaps it is so similar to the idea of the flesh when it is upturned, veins and organs exposed against pale, smooth skin. Such a reminder of his former life, and though he is no longer that person, it is hard to erase the memories that once brought him his greatest satisfaction.

The day is already beginning to waste away, and he is eager to get to the courthouse. He and Johnny return home to find the basement door open and the bathroom mirror coated with steam from a hot shower. He hears Lana shuffling around in her living quarters-or what were formally her living quarters- and proceeds to his bedroom. Johnny naps quietly on his bed after Oliver dresses him, and then while he dresses and prepares himself for their ceremony. He slips the rings into his pocket, straightens his tie, and watches his reflection in the mirror.

Never before Lana had he imagined this day would come. The very thought of being bound in matrimony to any woman had uninterested him, perhaps even bored him, prior to Lana. And now, there is Johnny to think of. He does not love Lana, and there is no love for him from her. He has never fooled himself into believing that either of them feel such a strong, albeit useless, emotion for the other. He certainly feels a strong desire for her, and perhaps even a rooted affection, but love is something he hasn't known before Johnny. His son deserves to have the life that he never had as boy, and Oliver is determined to see that it happens. He leaves the child resting on the bed and makes his way to the basement. He is surprised to find Lana standing in the middle of the living quarters, her dress resting graciously on her hips. The taking-out of the dress has been a tremendous help, and he can only stop and watch her for a moment as she sits on the edge of the bed, slipping into the shoes he has laid out for her.

"Lana," he speaks, and she looks up at him, blinking away the confusion from her eyes.

"Oliver," she says his name, raising her chin.

"Are you feeling well-rested?"

She narrows her gaze at him, her eyes dull.

"Of course. Is it time?"

"Your dress is unzipped," he tells her, crossing the room, his thick fingers seizing the zipper pull and dragging it up. He hears her breath catch in her throat as his fingers brush her skin, and the slight touch sends electricity coursing through him. He hesitates just behind her, breathing heavily on the back of her neck. She stills in front of him for a moment before her hands slowly raise to the back of her neck, adjusting her hair over the back of her dress. He is pleased to see that she is wearing the bracelet. She turns slowly toward him, her dark hair falling. Her face is clean and free of make-up and he can feel the attraction to her already stirring beneath his waist. There will, however, be plenty of time for such carnal desires later.

"It's time," he tells her. She watches him emotionless for a moment before beginning towards the stairs.

The ride to the courthouse is quiet on Lana's part, though Johnny talks happily to both of them, placing a hand on Lana's face to turn it towards him when she glances out the window. He is nestled in her lap, dressed in a dark suit and black shoes, but he knows none of the displeasures of the world, and Oliver intends to keep it that way, at least while he can. All this child knows is his mother, his father, and their life together. And for this very reason, they are headed to the courthouse.

He sees the displeasure flash in Lana's eyes as he pulls the bouquet from the box it has been resting in. He has waited for this moment; the time when she sees that it is nearly identical to a bouquet that had been placed meticulously in a vase on the table at the home she had shared with Wendy. Blood red roses, stems cut and wrapped in a soft beige ribbon. He takes Johnny from her and hands her the flowers. She hesitates before wrapping one hand around the stem and following him up the stairs and into the large courthouse.

The ceremony is unspectacular. The justice of the peace, clad in a simple black robe, sits behind a large stand and reads ceremoniously from the papers in front of him. Oliver slips the plain golden band onto Lana's finger, and her eyes stay focused on the simple piece of jewelry as the judge goes on with his words, before Oliver finally grasps her other hand and places his own ring in her open palm. She stares defiantly up at him, pushing the ring onto his finger in one quick movement. Lana hesitates and mumbles through her vows, but her words make no difference to him; they are legally recorded and accepted as law. They are married.

He expects to feel different as a married man, but no immediate changes are recognizable. His feelings for Lana have not changed despite the ring of gold that symbolizes their everlasting union. Oliver carries Johnny back to the car, just in case Lana takes the opportunity to try and run. She follows behind them slowly, the bouquet hanging from her fingertips and the golden bracelet sliding down her wrist with each step she takes. Once they reach the car, Lana slides into the front seat with Johnny on her lap, cupping his head against her chest. He has begun to doze off, his head lolling without the support of her hand.

"Do you feel differently now, that we are forever joined in marriage?" He asks, looking towards her. She averts her gaze from him.

"Yes," she confirms, and this surprises him.

"How so?" He wonders, sitting back against his seat.

Her dark eyes meet his in a flash.

"I've never felt more alone in my life."

He feels his chest rise with an angry sigh. He starts the car, turning away from her as he pulls out of the parking spot. With Johnny asleep, there is a long moment of silence between them. The rain has continued throughout the day and the sun is already beginning its slow descent into the horizon. The clouds have left the day overcast in shadow, and mere moments after pulling into traffic, he realizes that he can feel Lana's eyes burning him.

From the corner of his eye, he can see her thin fingers stroking Johnny's dark hair, ruffling through the soft strands with all the love of the mother he never had.

"You know, Oliver," she says, breaking the long silence, her fingers still lovingly albeit absentmindedly stroking through the child's hair. "I never really believed you were capable of loving another human being." She shook her head slowly, eyes fixed on him. "You don't love me, you know I don't love you. Neither of us will ever love the other. Yet you made me marry you. Why?"

He contemplates her words for a moment before narrowing his eyes at her through his thick glasses.

"We've discussed this, Lana. Johnny deserves to have a mother and a father, a normal family. Marriage only solidifies this bond between us, and it makes things easier for him." He pauses at a red light. "It's all for Johnny."

"I do believe, deep inside, that you love Johnny," she responds after a brief hesitation. "I don't know why I trust any part of you with him, but I do. I don't even think you expected to love him as much as you do."

The simple act of discussing his feelings for his son leaves a knot in his throat, and he attempts to swallow it down before responding to Lana's statement.

"I would give my life for him, Lana." The words shock even him. He can see that he has caught her off-guard as well. He has never lied to Lana, even if he often kept the truth from her. This simple statement, however, is undoubtedly the most true statement he has ever made to anyone.

There is a heavy silence between them before he hears her speak again. Her voice sounds different this time, heavier somehow, but she suddenly refuses to pull her eyes from the car window as she clutches the toddler in her arms.

"You would never hurt him?" The question is obviously a difficult one. "Not like you've hurt me. Or Wendy. Not like you've hurt those other women?"

"Why would I hurt my child, Lana?" He can feel the anger building inside of him, though he tries his best to suppress it. He is a different man now, he reminds himself; a husband, a father. Surely, his anger is meant to dissipate much more quickly than it did previously. Still, he can't keep himself from saying the words. "You're the only one of us who has ever even considered that option."

He hears her suck her breath in, and feels pleased at the idea of reopening the wound. It is an image that haunts him every day of his life, and he can't help but feel as if she should live with the horrors, as well. The prospect of murdering the innocent child that now rests so trusting within her embrace is something he believes she should face each day.

"I wasn't trying to hurt him. I was trying to save him," she says after a long moment, still not looking towards him.

"Save him from what?" He demands, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel. "A loving home with his parents?"

"No," comes the word, though it is so soft that he can barely hear her above the hum of the car's engine. "Save him from becoming you." She presses her lips to Johnny's head, closing her eyes. Her next words are so soft that he is sure they are meant solely for the child, though he is still able to hear her. "I'm so sorry, baby. You deserve so much better than this, but... I can't protect you anymore."

Her words alarm him and he is on edge suddenly, eyeing her with a mistrust that could only be achieved after so many deceptions. He hurries home, desperate to have Lana at his control and away from the child. Her behavior seems bizarre this evening, even considering the circumstances. As they pull into the driveway of his home, he takes the sleeping child from Lana's embrace and cradles him in his strong arms, following behind Lana as she shuffles into the house. She hesitates at the entrance, eyeing him before stepping into the house. He closes the door behind her and they are alone again, sealed inside the protective barrier of the only place he knows they are truly safe.

"I'd like to you to keep your dress on," he tells her, his dark eyes meeting hers, "and go to my bedroom." He feels his face lighten. There is so much that will change now, and he must begin to adjust to being a married man. "Our bedroom."

"But Johnny-" she insists, and he turns to her.

"I've got him. I'll put him to bed."

She stares at him silently for a moment before turning and making her way down the hallway and into the bedroom.

He cradles the child in his arms, carrying him to his small blue bedroom. Carefully, he slips him out of the dark suit and into a pair of pajamas. Tiny cowboys riding horses dot the material of the fabric, and he traces the small icons with one finger, trying to remember a time in his life before Johnny when he felt as satisfied as he does at this moment. No thoughts come to mind.

He lingers in the bedroom for just a moment, reluctant to end this moment of absolute tranquility between them. He knows that one day, Johnny will grow up and there will be questions that he will deserve to have answered. Perhaps they will be answers Johnny will dislike, but it is now his responsibility to face up to the decisions he has made in the past.

Reluctantly, he places Johnny in his crib and watches him for a moment before turning off the light and closing the door behind him. He pauses outside his son's door for just a moment before remembering that Lana is waiting for him in their bedroom. He feels the pleasure already building in his loins as he enters the bedroom.

Lana is perched on the edge of the bed and she looks up at him with dark eyes as he enters. The sight of her, in her wedding dress, on their marital bed, is nearly too much for him to take in. He crosses the room slowly, loosening his tie as he nears her. He sits beside her on the edge of the mattress. He is surprised to find his fingers trembling as he reaches out toward her leg. At the contact of his skin, her eyes dart to his hand. He straightens his fingers on her smooth leg.

"I should despise you," he tells her softly, his eyes tracing her thin form. "After everything you've done to me, and all of the hurtful things you said to me on the way home from the courthouse. Yet, I don't. Oddly enough, I find myself drawn to you."

She doesn't make a movement beside him as he shifts nearer to her.

"You are my wife, now," he tells her, his hand coming up to rest on her cheek. He despises that she flinches now, when he touches her, despite the fact that he is now her husband. His touch should be a welcome invitation, something she longs for even without realizing it. Yet, he can see that she can barely keep herself from pulling away. The thought irritates him, and he chooses to erase the annoyance by closing in on her. His lips catch hers in a hard kiss, pressing against her, eyes closing in the anticipation of pleasure.

He is leaning against her, forcing her to lie back on the mattress, and her resistance is no match for his brute strength. He is pressing against her, his hand finding her thigh and tracing small circles on the sensitive skin there. He sees a flash of her white panties beneath her dress and the thought of being so close to that soft skin just at the apex of her thighs leaves him feeling breathless and excited. He would like to draw this night out, would like to make it last as long as possible while she writhes beneath him, but he knows that, even now, his endurance in bed is something that he cannot contain. Feeling himself in her soft, warm tunnel always proves to be too much for him too quickly, and he loses himself in her before he has a chance to even prepare himself. It could be an embarrassing experience, but he has been with Lana enough to know what to expect.

He is half-laying on top of her, kisses peppering the soft skin on her neck and what is exposed of her chest. His fingers begin to venture from her legs to the apex of her thighs, searching for that warm, dark area that he craves so desperately. Two fingers find the cloth of her underwear and he presses them against her, searching for the small button that will make her hips back so helplessly against his hand. He can feel the heat already radiating from her core, and the thought alone leaves him half-hard. It has been two months since their last coupling and he is eager to be sheathed inside her warm center once again.

Besides, he reminds himself, things are different now; she is his wife, and in turn, she is his to claim. He wonders if it will feel different, being inside her with the knowledge that they are united in marriage. He isn't sure it could feel better than it already does, but he certainly isn't opposed to the idea of finding out.

He lets out a soft sigh against her lips as his fingers press harder against her center, wanting to push aside those soft white panties and take her right then, her wedding dress still on, but bunched up over her hips, her glistening core exposed to him and-

"Daddy!" The wail comes from just beyond the closed bedroom door and down the short hallway leading to Johnny's room. His fingers pause between Lana's thighs, a short breath leaving his lips as he presses his forehead against Lana's. He can feel the erection beginning to tent his pants and a soft groan of frustration escapes him as he pulls away. Lana watches him on her back, her chest rising and falling heavily with each breath. The shrill cries continue from the nursery, gradually turning into the soft sobs of a child alone in the night.

"Johnny," Lana whispers his name, blinking up at him, "He wants you-"

"I know," he gasps, taking a moment to sit up and pull himself away from her lithe body. He despises the fact that relief floods her face as he moves away from her, though she makes no motion to move just yet. "I will be back, Lana." He isn't certain if he means the words as a threat or a promise.

Johnny's cries only get more pathetic as he nears his bedroom. By the time he opens the door, Johnny is standing in his crib, tiny fists clutching the railings and tears flowing freely down his small face. He is gasping for his breath and suddenly reaching out for his father, fingers waggling desperately.

"What is it?" Oliver coos softly, quickly forgetting the frustration he had left behind in his bedroom. His arms sweep over the child, gathering him and bringing him to his chest. Johnny whimpers softly, curling into his father's chest and taking a few deep, shuddering breaths to calm himself. "What happened, Johnny? Did you have a bad dream?"

"Scary," the toddler whimpers again, burying his face in Oliver's shoulder. He can feel the warm, wet tears soaking through his shirt and his hand comes up to rub his son's back softly. "Bad scary."

"Oh," he hushes him softly, moving to the rocking chair with his son. "Don't be scared, son. Daddy's here." He runs his fingers over the dark hair on the child's head, "Besides, there's nothing to be scared of. Not here."

"Monsters," Johnny whispers against his chest, "scary monsters."

"No, Johnny," he reassures him, rocking him gently in the chair as he speaks, "Monsters aren't real." It's a lie, he knows. Monsters are real, though not the type of monsters who hide in dark closets or under beds. The real monsters are the ones on the street, they are Johnny's own parents... his own father. But none of that matters to a two-year-old who longs only for the comfort of a parent's touch. It is not his job, as a father, to introduce terror to his son. There is more than enough time for others to do that. His sole responsibility is to protect him from it.

He keeps Johnny in his arms, softly soothing him while he rocks him into a state of slumber. When he feels the child's breathing become heavy again, he places him back in his crib and leaves the door ajar before moving back to the bedroom.

Before he even approaches his bedroom door, he knows something is wrong. There is a change in the atmosphere, a slight metallic scent in the air that he didn't detect previously. Though he isn't sure what has changed, he approaches the closed door cautiously, his breath catching in his throat as he places his hand on the doorknob.

As the door opens, the familiar scent overwhelms him. It takes him back to Briarcliff, in Lana's room, as she bled from between her legs, crying and begging him for help, for a doctor. He was so angry then, so worried about his child growing within her, and now it all comes back to him. The first thing he sees is the clash of bright red against her white dress, reminding him of the bouquet she had held no more than a few hours ago. But this time, the red stems from something much less benign than flowers. The red flows from the veins on her left arm, trailing down across the blankets of their bed and her dress, the floor and her hands are smeared with the viscous liquid.

"Lana," he gasps her name, freezing in place for a moment, his eyes scanning her trembling body. "Oh, God, Lana, what did you do? What did you do, Lana?"

It may be absurd, but his first thought is that he must find the object she used to open her wrists. It isn't a moment after the thought crosses his mind that he sees his own penknife on the floor just below her left hand, surrounded by drops of blood. He feels his hands beginning to shake and he goes to grab for her before hesitating. Blood is slipping down her arm, covering his bed sheets with a bright red sheen. There is no time to hesitate, he knows, and he grabs a sheet from his bed, wrapping it tightly around her arm to compress the bleeding. She is already pale, cool to the touch and her lips are trembling.

"No, no," she whispers again and again as he pulls at her, trying to gather her in his arms. He believes at first that she is resisting his help so he hugs her tighter, oblivious to the fact that the blood is soaking into his white shirt. "No," she whispers again as he pulls her into his arms, her head falling back. "Oliver, please..."

The thought occurs to him that an ambulance might mean a quicker transport to the hospital, but he can't imagine pacing around his house waiting for the vehicle to arrive while Lana bleeds out on his bed, so there is no time for hesitation regarding transportation.

Lana begins to sob in his arms, her body becoming heavier in his arms as her strength begins to wane.

"Please..." she whispers again and he feels the anger growing inside of him.

"God damnit, Lana, I am _not_ letting you die! You have a child who needs you, and _I _need you, you are _not_ going to die, damn you!"

She is fading quickly in his arms, the blood beginning to soak through the make-shift tourniquet he has prepared for her. He is the one who is panicked now, he realizes with a surge of indigence, as Lana's vision begins to cloud and she begins to mumble nonsensical words.

He carries her to the car, wrapping her in a tight hug before sliding her into the front seat and hurrying back into the house for Johnny. The child blinks up at him sleepily as he turns the light on, grabbing him from his crib and clutching him to his chest as he rushes back to the car.

Lana makes quiet whimpering sounds all the way to the hospital, and the smell of blood is so strong in the confined area of the vehicle that he nearly gags several times. Johnny is wide awake and unsure of what is happening, though his words and questions to Lana go unanswered.

Their eventual arrival at the hospital is met with a flurry of paramedics and doctors as Oliver bursts from the car holding Johnny. His words are muddled and confusing even to himself, but the moment they spot Lana in the car, swaddled in a blanket stained in blood, they go into action. Until this moment, it has not even occurred to him that he has had the same medical training as these people. He realizes that the idea of treating Lana at home had not crossed his mind because of the simple fact that he could not take a mother from such a young child, even if by accident. The act of treating her himself was too risky.

There is a rush of conversation buzzing around him and a stretcher appears. Lana is ushered onto the wheeled device and hurried into the hospital. He follows behind the group of doctors, Johnny on his hip , until Lana and the stretcher disappear through a door and into an area labeled with restricted access.

He is a man of great determination, and he knows that, with the proper convincing, he would have no trouble talking his way into the back with Lana. However, Johnny is clutching his shirt and looking at him with wide, scared, eyes and he simply cannot fathom the thought of abandoning his son at this moment in time.

"Mama?" Johnny begins to cry as he realizes she is gone, looking around the empty hospital lobby.

"Mama's okay, Johnny," he reassures his son, "She's fine. Don't cry." He uses his thumb to wipe the tears from the child's eyes. "Shh. Daddy has you."

Waiting for news of Lana turns to pacing, and pacing turns to sitting in a hard chair with Johnny asleep on his shoulder, drooling slightly. When a doctor finally emerges from the restricted area, Oliver stands quickly, watching him.

"Dr. Thredson?" He suddenly recognizes the man in the white coat as a colleague he has seen at several medical conventions, but his mind is swimming and he cannot begin to recall the man's name.

"Yes," he nods, "That's my- Lana, she's my wife. Is she-" His concern is not for himself, but his son.

"She's resting," the other man informs him. "She's comfortable. It's the best we could do. We're still waiting on the results, though, for the tests we have completed."

"Results?" He feels a flood of relief at the news of her survival. His son's mother is alive. "Which results are you awaiting?"

The man's eyes narrow at him.

"To assess if there was any damage done to the fetus, of course, Dr. Thredson. Your wife has undergone a serious trauma."

His breath is taken from him suddenly, he feels dizzy and confused and his grip tightens on his son. This is a sensation he hasn't experienced since the birth of Johnny, this fleeting excitement yet terrifying sensation of being helplessly out of control.

"I need to see my wife."

The hospital room is a shade of plain beige, a simple cross the only decoration on the wall. He sees Lana resting in a bed, left arm bandaged to the bend just above her elbow. She is so impossibly pale that he is frightened, just for a moment, that the doctors have made a mistake and have mispronounced her condition. However, as he nears her and Johnny calls for her, her eyes flutter open and her head turns to the sound of her son's voice.

He keeps hold of his son, and Lana meets his gaze.

"Mama's Snow White," Johnny speaks to no one in particular, and Oliver realizes how accurate the description is. Skin as white as snow, hair as dark as night. Though her lips are much paler than the character's are, she looks tiny and frail in the hospital bed, nearly overwhelmed.

"You're pregnant," he says the words simply, and her eyes do not leave his. "You didn't tell me."

"I wasn't sure," she answers him dryly, letting her eyes fall to her son. "I don't know if I am anymore."

"You're strong, Lana, and so are our children. She will survive."

She seems to steel herself against the word; children. It seems foreign, even to him. The idea that they have created a new life inside of Lana is a concept that he isn't quite sure he'll ever grow accustomed to. The miracle of life.

"Let me hold him?" She asks, reaching for Johnny. He hesitates for a moment before allowing the child to slide into her grasp. He watches them silently for a moment. He curls against Lana's chest, and her unbandaged arm slides around him. She places a soft kiss on his dark head.

"You tried to leave him," he feels himself saying the words, and Lana's eyes move to meet his. "And you tried to leave me. I believed that you had come to love him."

She blinks, turning away from his gaze. There is a long silence between them.

"I changed my mind when I thought it was too late," she says softly.

He feels the heat of anger flush his face.

"You changed your mind about loving your child?" He demands, his voice tinted with disgust.

"Not about loving him," she snaps back at him, her fierce gaze meeting his. He can see unshed tears glistening in her eyes. "After I cut myself. You thought I was begging you to let me die." She shakes her head. "I was begging you to save my life. I didn't realize how badly I wanted to live."

His dark gaze fixes on her, an unknown emotion unfurling inside of him as silent tears begin to slip down her cheeks. Johnny rests peacefully on her chest, looking up at both of them with tired eyes.

"Why?" He can't help but ask the question. He has spent the past two years convincing himself that their family is just as normal as any other, while in the back of his mind he has known it is a lie. Chaining Lana to a bed, keeping her in a basement, these are not normal things. They are devices designed by him to ensure that he is not alone. "After everything I've put you through, why would you beg to live?"

"For Johnny," the answer is absolute and undeniable. "I couldn't leave him. You're right. He deserves to have a mother."

He slowly feels the anger dissipating within him and lowers himself into a chair next to Lana's bed. He finds his eyes drawn to her abdomen and recalls how blind he has been to this child growing within her. The wedding dress, the exhaustion, the nausea. All of these things should have led him to the conclusion of her pregnancy, but he has been blinded.

"And what of this child?" He asks, eyeing her.

"It is a child conceived in spite and abhorrence," she responds, her eyes on her son. "Just as he was. But it is still our child."

The use of the word _our_ is not lost on him, and he feels his breath catch in his throat.

"You'll keep it?" He asks, his voice hopeful.

"Do I have a choice, Oliver?" She responds, meeting his gaze again.

He realizes that she does not, and releases a quiet breath of relief.

"There is something that I've come to realize," she says after a long moment, her hand stilling on their son's back. "I'll never be able to take Johnny away from you."

"Never," he confirms her words.

"And I don't think I could. He's made you a better person, Oliver," she admits. "I've watched you with him, and I can no longer deny the fact that you love him. That much is obvious."

He watches her silently. The truth, of course, is that she is right. His life has changed completely since Johnny was born and the idea of another child's arrival fills him with a new hope that cannot quite be explained.

"I think it's time we come to a sort of agreement." She raises her eyes to him. "I think you owe me this."

He will admit to no such thing, but her sudden insistence leaves him curious. He watches her, waiting for her next words.

"I'll give you another child. You'll be the father and I'll be the mother, but I will _not_ be your lover, Oliver. I will be your wife. I may not be able to bring Wendy back, but I will be able to keep other women from dying by staying with you. We will raise the children together, and then..." she pauses for a moment, though the determination of her words does not waver. "When they're old enough to be on their own, we need to resolve this."

"And how do you expect to accomplish that?" He asks, "By getting involved in a custody battle?"

Lana laughs bitterly, shaking her head.

"No. No custody battle. We both know that neither of us would be able to come to any agreement regarding the children. Both of us would want them." She narrows her gaze. "The planet simply isn't big enough for both of us. I think you know that by now. And I think you also know that this won't end until either you kill me or I kill you. That's the only possible resolution."

He finds himself responding with a tight nod, and he realizes for the first time that Lana has finally begun to understand him. He was right all those years ago; she truly is the only one who will ever be so close to being inside his own mind. One day she will be able to predict his thoughts. The thought should frighten him, but he anticipates the moment with pleasure.

"When they're old enough to be on their own," he agrees, "there will be a resolution between us."

The agreement between them is completed with a slight nod from her. And it is done. Their lives are sealed with those few words of compromise that promise a bloody resolution. Years in the future, one of their lives will come to an end at the other's hand. It is a sort of poetic justice between them.

Lana settles against the pillows in the bed, sighing softly. His gaze moves from Lana to a small bag sitting beside her bed. It reads simply: _Thredson, Lana. Personal Effects._

His fingers reach for the bag and he retrieves the two pieces of golden jewelry, turning them in his fingers as Lana watches him. His eyes raise to hers and it is a moment before she extends the fingers on her left hand, stretching her fingers wide to accommodate him slipping the ring and bracelet onto her hand. The engraved words catch the dim light of the hospital room and the significance is not lost on him.

"You're a worthy adversary, Lana," he can't stop the smile from pressing onto his lips. "I won't put it past you to start counting my days."

She returns the smile, neither of them able to deny the irony in their expressions.

"Yes, well. Until then, Oliver," she speaks softly, extending her hand to him.

He stares at her open palm, fingers outstretched. Their eyes meet for a brief moment before his hand raises. Gingerly, he places his palm over hers, curling his fingers slightly into her hold. He feels goosebumps pimple his skin at the small gesture of comfort and affection that hand-holding provides him. Johnny still sleeps on her chest, the child undoubtedly resting inside of her womb. His family. _Their_ family.

"Until then, Lana."


End file.
